


stay up late and see the day change

by Laliandra



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Halloween Costumes, Multi, Threesome, questionable reward systems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 13:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17044385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laliandra/pseuds/Laliandra
Summary: “What would it take to get you to come dance, Jon?” he asks.“You could ask,” Jon says, in an ‘ask a stupid question’ tone that feels uncalled for.





	stay up late and see the day change

**Author's Note:**

> so when I started this it was unseasonably early for Halloween and now it is unseasonably late, but soft threesomes are for life not just the holidays. 
> 
> important accompanying visual media - [the Favreau costumes](https://twitter.com/jonfavs/status/924476863073853440). [Lovett's costume](https://twitter.com/jonlovett/status/924477089985716224). [got to keep that marriage spicy](https://twitter.com/jonfavs/status/924481085685112838). [adorable video of Lovett and Emily dancing](http://lucy-vanpelt.tumblr.com/post/179643098368)
> 
> with eternal soft gratitude to my poor longsuffering actual proofreader wife who tries her best with me and my commas, to Lauren who suggested all the best beats and songs, and to DF for everything, but especially not batting an eye when I sent them a gdoc entitled 'Lovett is the juicebox'.

Lovett makes it out of the bedroom without tripping. He makes it across the hall and into the bathroom without waking either Jon or Emily. He actually has his cell out to text Spencer. Maybe he should call. Maybe he should call Tommy, except Tommy was also out last night and also Tommy will just ask a lot of questions. Spencer is going to ask a lot of questions, like, “What do you mean, accidentally?” Maybe he should open with how it was almost a dare. Pretty much a dare. Make some joke about Halloween and about costumes, about make believe. Maybe there’s something in Trick or Treat. 

The problem with trying to work out how these jokes would land is that he has to visualise the part where he says with actual, audible words, “I accidentally slept with Jon and Emily.” 

Lovett puts his head in his hands but that doesn’t stop it, all these flashes of bodies and words, coalescing into a night, a narrative. There’s laughter, but...

The problem with all of this, when he’s honest with himself, is that it wasn’t a joke. 

*

_Jon’s hands, huge and hot through the thin material of his stupid costume, on his waist, keeping him pressed close, and Emily’s laughter low in his ear and Lovett says something about being drunk and Jon says, “Not that drunk, Lo, I promise, not that kind of drunk,” and his hands are on Lovett’s hips now, all pretense of dancing gone and_

*

“Pre-gaming,” Emily says, dragging out the ‘a’ and pushing a glass of wine into Lovett’s hands as soon as he emerges from the spare room in his costume. 

Lovett takes it, obviously. “The only kind of gaming I like,” he says. “Is Jon carrying handcuffs? I need a harder game. A stronger ball. Whatever gets you sportier faster.”

Jon as Jared Kushner looks like exactly the kind of asshole that Lovett said yes to a first date with in DC. He looks like the hot emotionally unavailable banker in a romance novel. Lovett knew what his costume was going to be and it’s still some kind of erotic nightmare. At least it’ll probably be worse for Tommy.

“More sporty more quickly,” Jon faux corrects, and shakes the wrist with handcuffs dangling from it in Lovett’s direction. _Narrow wrist, long fingers, teasing laugh, easy grin _, Lovett’s brain notes and files away and doesn’t dwell on. The system is very efficient these days. “And I can’t be a criminal without cuffs.”__

____

____

“From your mouth to Mueller’s ears,” Emily says, and refills his glass, tops Lovett’s up too even though he’s only had a mouthful. He appreciates the gesture, though. 

He sighs. “I feel like, as per usual, my brilliance is being overshadowed by the current political events. Come on: GLAADiator. That’s really good.” 

“I came up with it so of course it’s very good, and you look great,” Emily says. She makes the ‘spin’ gesture with her fingers and Lovett obliges with an eyeroll. 

Jon wolf whistles as Lovett come back to face them, and Emily turns to look at him. “Yeah?” she says and Jon nods, weirdly resolute, and says, “Yeah. He looks good. You look good, Lovett.” 

“Damn right he does,” Emily says, and pulls Jon down and kisses him. At length. 

Lovett lets them go for longer than he really wants to, just so that he can get himself fully back together, make sure that Jon is less like to circle back around to the compliment and start one of his grossly earnest doubling downs. Then he coughs ostentatiously. “Again, please stop trying to overshine my gay ensemble with your grim displays of married bliss.” 

Emily swings out of Jon’s arms and into Lovett’s side in a practiced move. “You’ll be the centre of everyone’s attention, babe, don’t worry. Including ours. We promised!” 

There had to be a lot of promises made before Lovett had agreed to come to a public party, even with all their friends, because the Favreaus have been fucking sneaks and left Lovett high and dry in small talk hell to go consummate their forever love way too many times. “Try and make it look organic, though,” he says, snuggling sullenly into her side. 

“You have a light up hat,” Jon says. “I think we’ll manage.” He is actually fiddling with the cuffs around his wrist, like a fucker. 

“It’s not a hat, fuck,” Lovett says, and before he really knows how, they are all piled on the sofa and he’s got a Favreau on either side of him while he shows Jon ancient helmets and googles a lot of shit about gay Romans to quote at him as a punishment for saying hat. 

Emily keeps leaning over Lovett to kiss Jon every time he laughs at one of the apparently endless Latin pervert quotes until Lovett has to say, “Guys, even for you this seems excessive. I know you’re all dressed up and you both look very hot and I’m sure you’re _very_ excited to act out all of your repressed Republifucker fantasies, but come on.” 

He doesn’t usually object to them getting handsy in front of him because otherwise they get all droopy and sad, and he wants them to keep letting him come hang out just like this, like they’re not going to be anything but their usual weirdo selves around him. Plus, he doesn’t usually actually object. Noted, filed away. 

“I...” Emily starts and then makes a hmmming noise. “Jon is, um, doing a program of positive reinforcement. It’s a whole thing, and I don’t want to let any Catholic guilt edge back in. Sorry. We can move.” 

Lovett puts his hand on her thigh to stop her moving away. “Don’t. It’s...” It’s fine, he wants to say, but he doesn’t want to lie to them. “I want to know about this ‘program’ more than I care about seeing your saliva exchange up close. What are we enforcing? Can I play?”

Emily flicks her eyes over to Jon who gives her a small one shouldered movement that apparently means ‘okay’, as she says, “Well, now that we’re married-”

“Ugh,” Lovett says, not quietly enough, gets jabbed in both legs.

Emily sticks her tongue at him. She says, “Now that we’re married, my poor husband is experiencing some kind of guilt clusterfuck whenever he finds a man attractive. So. We’re working on that.” 

“With kissing?” Lovett asks. He knows about Jon’s not straight thoughts. He’s known a long time. He doesn’t think about it and they don’t talk about it. Maybe... Maybe they should have talked about it. 

Maybe then Jon wouldn’t look like a puppy told they’ve been bad, all hunched in on himself, fiddled with the corner of a pillow and not looking at Lovett. 

Maybe then it wouldn’t feel like such a gut punch. 

Emily grins, all suggestion and casual confidence that Lovett knows is a front. “Kissing is part of it.” Jon shifts and Emily reaches out and takes his hand, wraps her fingers so tight around his. 

Lovett says, without even stopping to think, “You’re bribing him with straight sex to have gay thoughts?” 

There is a horrible beat and then, thankfully, Jon laughs. Unfortunately it’s still not one of his good laughs, there’s nothing in his body, no leaning or hand movements, there’s no note of surprised joy. But it’s a laugh. It’s a start. 

Emily pulls a face. “Well, not exactly. Not at all, really. By definition. Not gay, not straight, also, not bribing.”

“Fine, rewarding?” Lovett asks, and before she answers he does what he should have done in the first place. He reaches out and puts his hand over Jon’s, and says, “That’s cool, that’s a cool thing to be trying. Say no to shitty guilt.”

Jon says, with a small hopeful smile, “I’m trying.” 

Lovett thinks, not for the first time, that he could send Emily a room’s worth of grateful bouquets every single day and it wouldn’t come close to being enough thanks for this better man that he gets to spend his days with, who works on himself, who is happy in ways Jon especially didn’t think possible. He strokes her fingers, still wrapped tightly around Jon’s, with his thumb in the meantime.

Jon leans into his shoulder, and Lovett can hear the slight catches in his breath, the kind of big deep breaths that you try and take when you feel overwhelmed or afraid. “It’s not like I think... it’s bad,” he says, in a worried voice. Worried about Lovett’s feelings. 

“Sometimes you have to unpack shit, I get it. Guilt has layers. Take it from a gay Jew,,” Lovett says watching, almost out of body like, as his own small fingers move from Emily’s to Jon’s and back again. “Hey, does this mean that I get to like, look at hot dudes with you? If I see a costume that shows off a really good set of abs should I point it out?”

Emily says, “Please, oh my god, Lovett, please do that. I cannot wait to find out what vocabulary Jon has to describe abs.” 

“What does he get for checking someone out? Like, gives them a good full body once over?” Lovett asks and then tries to find a way to bite that back. That’s probably crossing a line, but the lines are harder and harder to find as the years roll by. He doesn’t know if Jon just exploded some or put some more into place but whatever, he doesn’t want to push too hard right now when there are so many vulnerable places being exposed. 

Emily says, “Oh, a hand on my ass at least,” and Jon makes a spluttery noise and then drains his glass. His face has gone a deep blush red all over in a way that would be unattractive on a lesser face. 

“Oh, it’s going to be that kind of night,” he says, clearly trying to sound put out but smiling and still holding both of their hands. “When the two of you gang up on me at every fucking turn. I get how it is.” 

Lovett says, “Go get me a Diet Coke, I’m pacing myself.” He doesn’t go out, or ‘out out’ as Tommy would say like a dweeb, often these days and he wants to make tonight last. He wants to get that point where everyone has been out long enough that time is blurry and your going out clothes just feel like what you wear and this drunk, careless you feels like _you_.

“Not your intern,” Jon says as he stands up. Lovett watches his stupid flat ass as he leaves. 

“You know you don’t get a kiss for doing gay stuff, right?” Emily says, and laughs when Lovett clearly looks as caught out as he feels. Two drinks is making him sloppy. 

Emily’s nose crinkles when she’s laughing at him specifically. 

Lovett says, “You know you’re like, stupidly adorable sometimes,” and offers his shoulder to her as she settles in, tucking her feet under herself even though she’s wearing one of those dresses that look restrictive even to stand in. 

“Yes, but you can totally tell me again,” Emily says. Lovett knows that he will, and that it will be genuinely appreciated, and that’s why he’s happy to do it. She hides it better but she’s as bad as Jon, unexpected seams of delicate neuroses under that glossy exterior. He knows it because he recognises it in himself. Whatever his and Emily’s weirdass friendship is now, it’s because of all these things that run through both of them, and he keeps finding more things that come from the same place inside, even if he and Emily wear them differently. “You’re adorable,” he confirms. “And like, the coolest wife? Shit, Em. This is some next level stuff.”

Emily tilts her head. “I don’t think so? We’re married not dead and all that; we are allowed to think other people are hot. That shouldn’t be any more extreme if those people are dudes. And I just...” She sighs, fiddles with her rings. “I can’t stand it when I know there’s just something eating up at him and there’s nothing I can do. I can’t make it so the right people always win, but I can do this; I can help him feel less like he’s doing something wrong just because he thinks someone is attractive.” She tips back on the sofa and gestures expansively. “Plus, it’s fun. And it’s been _amazing_ for our sex life.”

“Three months into marriage and you’re already having to spice things up? Wow,” Lovett says, pulling himself back from her swatting hand. “Sorry, sorry, it was a really good opening. I think it’s really cool and you’re really cool, okay? I’m not going to stop thinking that.” 

Emily says, “Fine,” in a tone that matches his attempt to mask deep fondness with a casual lightness. Jon comes back with drinks for them both and smiles that sappy smile he gets sometimes when he sees them together, like he wants to tie a little bow on them. 

By the time that Tommy is filling the group chat with terrifiedly casual messages about not wanting to get left all alone at a party, Lovett is merrily halfway down another jack and coke and Jon is already a little flushed. When Lovett goes to get his flag cape and puts his helmet on for pictures Jon laughs and whistles.

“Spin for me,” Emily says, getting out her phone. 

Lovett does, conscious of how the skirt of the Roman tunic thing - he’s going to have to look up the name of in case Jon calls it a dress - flares up around his thighs, but Emily is whistling now, and Jon is still laughing, warm and approving. 

He rolls his eyes at them, gets his phone from the side table and says, “Okay Kushners, do a sexy pose for me. Oh, well, even saying it as a joke is disturbing me on a fundamental level. Gross. Okay, make it quick.” 

He holds out his phone after after taking a few rounds of pictures - they do look sexy, which only makes it grosser - and Emily swaps with him without even asking for the standard picture selection and deletion round. Lovett is squinting at one of him that’s most a rainbow blur trying to work out if that’s too cutesy when Emily says, “Oh yeah, that’s worth an ass grab.” 

He looks up and she’s holding Jon’s hand to her, and he’s bent over, face in her shoulder. 

“Oh, come on, there’s no one here for him to be ogling, this one is just an excuse for heavy petting,” Lovett says, trying not to be too actually annoyed. 

Jon says, not lifting his head, “There’s you.”

Everything goes very slow and then very fast, like a movie, as Lovett sees his glass fall to the ground, hears it hit, watches it spill, and suddenly there’s liquid everywhere, spreading over the rug. 

“Shit,” he says. “Shit. Sorry. Shit.” He can’t think of anything else to say. What do you say when you do something this ridiculous and fictional, when you react like someone in a comedy of manners. At least the glass didn’t smash. Automatically he gets a cloth from the kitchen and starts wiping up, babbling about how it’s good that they already took the dogs to Tanya, just, stupid nothing words coming out of his mouth. 

“Hey,” Emily says, pointing her phone at him. “Hey, shut up and look penitent, okay?” 

“Not sure that’s in his repertoire,” Jon says. He’s still glued to Emily’s side, huge hand on her tiny waist and yet so clearly being held firm by her. “But then I didn’t think flustered was.” 

There are times when Lovett wishes that Jon could look at a problem and not fling himself into the path of fire. 

“I wasn’t flustered. I was just... surprised. Taken by surprise.” He feels _stupid_ , mostly, like he’s somehow fallen back into his naive younger self. 

Jon shrugs and then sets his shoulders. “Guys are going to be looking at you in that-”

“- don’t you dare say dress,” Lovett warns. 

“At you,” Jon finishes with an emphatic gesture in Lovett’s direction which makes the cuffs that’s he’s still wearing, hasn’t taken off all evening, jangle at him like a particularly unfair metaphor. 

Lovett swallows. “Going to defend my honour?” he laughs and pulls his cape around himself. Like that’s going to help with... this.

*

_his back hits the door, the Favreaus’ front door, and Jon’s mouth is on his neck, rough, almost clumsy, and there’s nothing to be done except tip his head back and let himself be roughed up, reach out for Jon’s shoulders, always so touchable, and_

*

There are lots of people they know at the party but it feels like somehow Lovett cast his cloak over the three of them, like some old god he read about once, keeping them apart from everyone else. Although possibly Tommy is also having some kind of sexual crisis bang somewhere in a corner. 

(“Nice dress, Lovett.”

“It’s a tunica, Thomas. Because I’m a roman. A GLAADiator, if you will.”

“Pretty sure that’s a centurion costume, Jonathan.”

“It’s a direct reference to the movie Gladiator, Tomathy. Don’t you want to comment on Jon’s costume? No? Nothing to say about that?”)

The night is darkening and there are endless string of lights above the courtyard, and the costumes and the haze make everything seem suitably otherworldly. He asks Ira to come dance with them, but Ira makes a number of disparaging comments about the caucasity of square dancing and goes back to his corner of young things trying so hard not to look like they’re trying. So mostly it’s just him and his sporadically handcuffed dates. They dance, or he and Emily end up trying to do the dances, holding hands as they fuck up merrily in their own corner, giggling too much to really hear the instructions and, treading on each other. Lovett lets Emily push him around in a much more literal way than usual. Whenever he glances back at Jon he’s watching them from the safety of his corner, full indulgent everything in force.

Emily pulls Lovett to her and he stumbles, bangs into her chest. “Well hello there,” he says with a giggle. “Are you trying to test the limits of Jon’s wallflowerness?” 

Emily loops her arms around his neck in defiance of the shouted out instructions. “I think he would be very happy to watch forever, babe,” she says. “Although he has been holding drinks for all of us for like, ten minutes now.” 

“Ugh, fine,” Lovett says. 

Jon waves them over with the drinks that Lovett admittedly did not notice that he was holding, his aviators pushed back on his head, way too many buttons undone. 

Lovett says, “All my ice has melted,” because Jon’s hotness does not bring out the best in him sometimes. 

“Thank you baaaaby,” Emily says, sliding herself under Jon’s arm and kissing his cheek. “Lovett is just being cranky because you’re not dancing.” She pulls at Lovett’s arm again so that he stays by her side. Like he’d leave.

“Ah yes, missing out on my moves,” Jon says over the precursor noise Lovett was making to a comeback. “My, um, shapes?”

Lovett knocks back his over watery drink in the futile hope that will help. “The only thing that will make any of this better is if you can point out any hotties on the dance floor that you wanted to throw shapes with. Stop pointing at your wife, oh my god, you’re so bad at this. Remember there are fun rewards! You could finally get some under bra action.” 

“Bold to assume I’m wearing one,” Emily says, and Jon makes a strangled noise. Maybe there will come a point in their marriage where Jon isn’t completely overwhelmed by his own wife. Lovett kind of hopes not, though. There’s something romantic about the way Jon still looks at her like it’s the first time. 

Jon says, “I was... I really was mostly watching you guys. Sorry.” That does fit with what Lovett remembers but still. Jon even looks sorry but Lovett is sure it’s not for the right thing. Emily nuzzles Jon’s neck with a kiss that looks suspiciously sexual.

Lovett has to do something before he’s all alone with a dying light up helmet. “What would it take to get you to come dance, Jon?” he asks. 

“You could ask,” Jon says, in an ‘ask a stupid question’ tone that seems uncalled for.

“I meant come dance with me,” Lovett clarifies, but Jon just repeats, “You could ask?” in a more confused voice. 

The square dance seems mostly to have stopped now, everyone just doing their own thing. “Ugh, fine, come dance with me,” Lovett says. “I can't believe your luck and timing.” 

Emily waves them off, says, “I'm taking a heels break. You go dance, I can judge just from here.” She leans back against the wall and sighs blissfully. Lovett catches Jon by the dangling ring of the cuffs and drags him away before he gets ideas about his wife and the wall. Jon could definitely lift her, they probably do that all the time, he could probably have her legs around his hips in one movement, just -

“Lovett,” Jon says sharply, and Lovett comes back to himself, jerks them both out of the way of a swaying Harley Quinn. 

“I guess we can just stop here?” he says, made of uncertain steps and inflections. Usually when they go dancing they go in a group and there’s Emily and Hanna at his height to bounce off but now there’s just Jon Favreau, gangly and tempting. “So that you can show me, what was it, your moves?” 

Jon steps right into his space. “Okay, I may have overstated my... everything. I think I only have one move, singular.” He’s so _close_. 

“Are you going to do the wedding shuffle with me? Give it the ol’ spin and dip? I know you can do those, I heard all about the pre first dance practising you did with Hanna.” He expects Jon to say some shit about Lovett being the same size or something but instead Jon just laughs and puts one hand on Lovett’s waist then holds out his other one expectantly. 

Lovett says, “Oh, no, there’s no way I’m letting Despacito be our song, Jon, nope, you’ll have to work up to that kind of dance.” Somehow it feels so much safer to say, “Come on, just let me put my arms around your neck, you probably earn a bunch of reward points for dirty dancing with a _boy_.” 

“I...” Jon says, his face doing too many things at once for Lovett to track. “Okay. Sure.” He bends forward so that, oh, so that Lovett can reach up more easily, link his arms around Jon’s neck. “I guess this would be easier if I wasn’t wearing a flak jacket, huh,” he adds with a wince as he puts his arms around Lovett, pulling them chest to chest. Or as close as they can, given the unusual amount of body armour going on. 

“Something about armour versus ardor,” Lovett says to Jon, who does his obedient laugh. 

The song changes but Jon doesn’t doesn’t stop in his laughter or his leaning. Jon says, “Okay, I hoped that this was going to be Closing Time, really add to the high school vibe.”

“You’re the one leaving room for Jesus,” Lovett says, rather than anything about how he was not dancing with boys like Jon Favreau during high school. He wasn’t dancing with boys like anyone, but especially not tall, clean cut, sloe eyed valedictorians. 

Jon raises an eyebrow and pulls Lovett closer using a hand in the small of his back. Lovett looks, instinctively, over towards Emily but she’s lost across a sea of other people dancing, walling them into this moment of intimacy out in the open air. No one is really looking at them, and absolutely no one cares. Maybe they would if they could see Jon’s teasing smile, or feel him spread out his fingers over Lovett’s back. Lovett can’t imagine anyone being able to pay any attention to anything else. He can’t. 

Jon says, “It takes two to... not tango. Too.” It was bad when he was laughing and it’s worse now that he’s not, and there’s nothing that Lovett can do except stare up at his face, probably looking enraptured and dreamy, and match the sway of his hips to Jon’s. They’re not really in time with the music but they are in sync with each other, and that’s all they’ve ever really cared about. If it wasn’t for the songs changing there’s no way Lovett would know how much time was passing, just watching the shadows paint loving, louche contours over Jon’s face. The dim light suits Jon as much as golden sunlight does, darkening his mouth and eyes to temptation shades. He wished, right at the start of the night, that Jon was wearing something more different from his everyday look, but now he’s glad that there’s no mask, only a shadow or two separating the Jon who gets him coffee and drives him to work and the Jon he’s with now, like this. 

A body, one of many, tilts into his back, and Emily, Emily, says, “Hey Jon Lovett, nice moves.”

Lovett swallows. She doesn’t sound mad, or anything. But. “Are you here to take over? Give Jon his reward for grinding with a guy in public?”

Emily laughs and presses herself right to him, and he can see Jon’s attention snap to her face. Sees Jon grin at her with full confidence. 

“Oh, babe, don’t you know yet?” Emily says in Lovett’s ear. “You are the reward.”

Lovett jolts - can’t go forwards or backwards so he kind of goes up in one bizarre, completely thrown bounce. 

Back in the early days of the White House it was so hard not to think he was being hazed, even though he knew that he wasn’t, when the president gave him feedback, or Tommy brought him lunch, or Favs asked him out to drinks. They were never that kind of cruel people, never deliberately awful once, but it was still so hard, and he has that feeling again, just for a moment, as Emily laughs. But he knows when Emily’s laughter is soft like this it means that she thinks he’s being cute, and he can feel Jon’s hands are still just as firm around his waist. 

He says, weakly, “You’re drunk. We’re all drunk. Don’t...” Don’t put something on the table that they don’t want to give, when it’s something he wants, has tried not to but still just wants so much his whole body feels like it’s been shocked just at the suggestion. This isn’t a casual offer; it shouldn’t be made casually.

Jon says, “Not that drunk, Lo, I promise, not that kind of drunk,” and when he moves his hands to Lovett’s hips Lovett moves into the touch. Jon and Emily seem to know what they’re doing, he trusts them, he actively enjoys trusting them, which feels very personal growth of him. 

So he lets go of whatever last piece of reserve he was holding onto, lets Jon’s hands guide him, and Jon wants his body close, apparently. Close and moving against Jon. Maybe he wants to show off some for Emily, show off the two of them together to her, and that thought makes Lovett’s skin prickle, turned on and the centre of attention. This is the start, this is only the start.

“He’s not so bad at this when he’s concentrating,” Emily says, hooking her chin over his shoulder and Lovett can hear her grin. “You know. Grading on the skinny white boy scale.” 

Lovett grins back even though she can’t see, and looks up at Jon to tease, but Jon is looking down at him like... He knows what Jon looks like when he’s leaning in to kiss someone, and Jon telegraphs it with full mouth ahead anyway. 

Lovett leans back sharply. “We... Jon.” Jon goes to pull away but Lovett tugs him back in close where he belongs. “This isn’t a no. It’s a you can’t just make out with me in the middle of a dancefloor. This is LA, everyone is instagramming everything, I don’t want to be in someone’s fucking story with a flashing sticker over my head.”

“But, yes?” Jon says, his eyes huge and full of wanting. God. 

“Yes,” Lovett says. He turns his head away from the danger of Jon’s face to look at Emily. She’s been giving permission all night but he still wants more.

“Yes,” Emily says, and it’s her that Jon leans down and kisses, unreserved and hot. Emily groans into his mouth and they sound like sex. He says, “Yes,” again, to both of them.

Jon says, “Then, fuck it. Come home with us.” The wanting seems to have flooded out over his body now, the way he’s looking at Lovett and the way he’s holding him, and the most in every word, because Jon can’t not spill his inner self over every single syllable. 

“We’ll have to sneak out,” Lovett says. He grabs for Jon’s hand and feels Emily take his other one, and they all laugh then shush themselves as they weave their way out, and Lovett feels giddy and fearless; the best kind of drunk. They end up in some random parking lot after ducking out of a back back entrance with a lot of unnecessary dashing around corners. Lovett swings Emily around, both hands holding one of hers, and she snickers and reaches up to turn off the lights on his helmet. 

“We’re sneaking,” she explains. “Can’t sneak if you’re all lit up.” She turns back to Jon, hand still in Lovett’s. “How’s that Uber coming, babe? Just pick the most expensive one, I keep telling you, that always works for me.”

Jon does have his little face of app frustration on, and sure enough, he sighs and jabs the screen and then gives up, hands it to Emily. “I just... you’ll get us home faster,” he says in resignation when she makes a gleeful noise. “ And I really want to get home faster.”

Lovett says, “I’ve got this one, Em,” spins himself back into Jon, into his arms. “Hi, welcome to the gay rewards section,” he says, and there’s no one here except the three of them, so he doesn’t have any concerns about leaning up and kissing Jon flush in the middle of his mouth, lingering there until Jon gets a clue and starts kissing him back. Maybe he... should. But Jon is kissing him, so he can’t worry about kissing Jon. 

“I really want to get home faster too,” he says, and Jon kisses him, hard and hungry this time, not sweet like the first time. Maybe a little sweet.

Emily whistles in the background which makes Jon laugh and he dips Lovett slightly, holding him up like it’s nothing, and somehow it’s just making out until car headlights light them up.

*

_and Lovett is pushing Jon backwards, towards their bedroom door, saying jokes he’s told before about the traffic, and new complaints about the length of their car ride and that next year Jon’s costume is going to be one soft piece of fabric at most, and Jon says, “You’re still mostly dressed,” pulling him along and_

*

There he is, in the Favreaus’ bedroom, with their literal marital bed in front of him. There’s Jon, and Lovett has been actively not taking when Jon looks this takeable for so long that it’s like he’s forgotten how to all of a sudden. There’s Jon who is married. He feels stuck in the doorway.

And then there’s his Emily, leaning against him as he stands there frozen on the threshold. “Hey,” she says. “It’s... I’m here, this isn’t... Whatever grand adultery concerns you’re having, this isn’t that story, okay?” 

“You’re not going anywhere, right?” Lovett asks. Confirms, really, because he didn’t think once that she’d be leaving. He hasn’t really even started to imagine how the rest of the night will go, but he knows it’s the two of them there with him. Jon said “us” and Lovett said “yes” and he’s just going to keep chalking it up to a crazy night, disguised out of the norm, because that’s currently where his courage lives. 

Emily says, “Not if... no? Well alright then.” She tilts her head towards the bed, where Jon is sitting shirtless. “Wouldn’t want to miss out on that show.” 

Jon ducks his head but also preens a little; LA’s most bashful set of constantly on show pecs. It doesn’t meant Lovett is any less weak to them. 

“I’m going in,” he says to Emily, who laughs and taps his ass as he moves away from her, so Lovett is giggling again when he reaches Jon and tips himself, graceless, against Jon’s chest again. “Here we are once more,” he says, and lets Jon pull him into a kiss, familiar now, they both know where to move, how to kiss each other. He doesn’t know what it’s like to run his hands over the sharp bones of Jon’s clavicle and over the firm muscles of his chest, though, so he does, until Jon is actively squirming against him. “You could drive a person crazy,” he says, not explaining his inflection because Jon had to give up caring when Lovett quotes things he doesn’t know. “Mad with power.” 

There is a moment where Jon just looks up at him, chest heaving like a romance heroine, bodice thoroughly ripped. “What do you want?” Jon asks. 

“Hmm,” Lovett muses, petting through Jon’s hair to get rid of the last of the product. “I don’t know, this was _not_ on my itinerary for the night. Not in the calendar. Did not get mentioned by the assistant.” He looks back at Emily. “I liked it when we were dancing?” It’s not a feeling he can put into words but it was exactly what he wants, to be moving to a rhythm that’s the three of them safe in the body press surety that everyone wants this, this exactly this. The feeling that he gets when Emily comes back to them, within touching distance again. She bends down to kiss Jon, hair falling over their faces, and it makes Lovett feel warm all over and he wants to do something, to give them something like they’re giving him, he wants... Lovett says, “Em, I want to...” He swallows. “Never mind.” 

It does not come out convincing. 

Jon curls his arm around Lovett’s waist. “Come on, you’re getting awkward up there, I want us all to be on the fucking bed before I put my neck out looking up at you.”

“Welcome to our world,” Emily says with a laugh, shoving at Jon as he starts to shuffle backwards up the bed. “And take those chinos off, babe, I don’t want to actually feel like I’m fucking a Republican.”

Jon unzips his fly, says, “Lovett too, though. If we’re taking our clothes off.”

Lovett rolls his eyes, takes a breath and, fast as he possibly can, strips off the rest of his costume to just be left in a tee shirt and Tommy Johns. They’ll be able to see that he’s half hard already. Nowhere to hide. The important thing right now is not to lose his nerve. He trusts his instincts pretty well these days, but he also comes with a lot of hang ups, because mid-thirties is a double edged sword of lived experiences. Emily hasn’t bothered undressing, has used the time to back Jon against the headboard to kiss again, and it’s very visually pleasing to watch Jon’s hands moving down the line of her spine, over the smooth material of her ridiculous dress that shows every curve that Jon is tracing.

Lovett climbs forwards, the bed suddenly feeling very large and unfamiliar even though he’s snuggled with Emily and the dogs in it a hundred times, and they have the same sheets as he does. There’s no music here, nothing but the faint hum of the AC, but that means that he can hear them kiss, hear every time any of them move. He puts his head over Emily’s shoulder, and says, “It’s not so bad this way, either.” 

Jon smirks, the shit-eating one that makes people think he really is That Guy, and kisses Lovett firmly. “I mean, we couldn’t pull it off with me in the middle because I’m not a shortass but-”

“You know,” Lovett says, turning his face in to only look at Emily. “I think he’s getting kind of cocky. Thinks he can just make fun of us.” 

Emily raises a perfect eyebrow. “Do you have a plan to take him down a peg?” She giggles. “We haven’t tried that exactly yet but I bet it would.” She watches Lovett’s face and clearly reads the incomprehension that he’s glad is showing there. “Pegging, babe. It was a pegging joke.” 

There’s nothing Lovett can do to stop the sheer vividness of that thought, the full technicolour burst of Jon Favreau getting full on nailed by this tiny force of nature who is grinning at him. “We’re supposed to be derailing Jon, Emily. Fuck.” 

Emily glances down at Jon, who Lovett can’t even look at right now. God. Jon _would_ probably go down for it, would be so sweet for getting fucked. This is the first time he allows himself to think, _this is going to make the Pod on Monday kinda tricky_. Emily says, “I think we did that too. But I’m sorry, you had a plan.”

“I do,” Lovett says. “Maybe we shouldn't have lost the cuffs. But, I know exactly how to take him out at the knees. All you have to do is kiss me.” 

It’s dumb to feel nervous about this. 

Emily’s smile breaks true and touched. “I’d love to,” she says, very quietly. It’s a quiet kiss, too, and it’s not like... It’s stupid to compare. It’s like kissing Emily to make Jon’s breath audibly catch. And to say something from his body to hers that he needed to say, and this is the only way he knows how to say it. Wanted to say it. Emily is still smiling when she pulls back just enough to say, “Yeah, I think we’ve got his attention.”

Lovett turns to look down at Jon, who is bright red in a way Lovett hasn’t seen before, staring up at them with his mouth hanging open, That is something Lovett has seen. A _lot_. He feels a prickle of heat go down his spine, like it did earlier. It’s not the action/reaction kind of turned on he’s used to from kissing, but kissing Emily makes Jon look like that. Lovett is definitely turned on by Jon looking like that, slack mouth and desperate. Every time any of them touch it somehow turns up the overall dial of hot, makes a circuit that passes through each of them and sets him alight. He brushes a quick kiss against the corner of her mouth. “I guess he did deserve a very special reward for all of this,” he says and reaches out one hand, wobbling slightly on his knees, to run his hand up Jon’s arm, brush the corner of his mouth with a kiss of fingertips. 

Jon mouths gently at Lovett’s fingers, sucks two into his mouth in a move that Lovett really should have seen coming but did not. Really did not. He shudders against Emily, almost loses his balance as well as his composure. “Lucky you’re here,” he says, and kisses her neck to make her shiver too. He knows exactly where to do it, has seen Jon seek out this spot a hundred times. Which, thinking about it, is kind of a lot of times for a friendship. 

“Lovett,” Emily says, with a breathless giggle of surprise, twisting to face him so that they’re both basically being held up by Jon. He doesn’t seem to mind, arm coming around her waist as easy as anything, eyes hot and intent on Lovett’s mouth. They’re all starting to tangle together in a way that Lovett likes, dreamlike in its lack of boundaries. It goes with the mood.

Lovett shrugs with one shoulder. “Look, I’m not going to be much good at, you know, the Emily specific stuff. But I can contribute. To, like, the journey. If that’s okay? With you?” He can’t even really blame the alcohol for his stop start sentences at this point, but he can blame the circumstances. 

“To mutual orgasms,” Emily says, serious and wide eyed in her tiny pink dress. She nods again. “Okay. Yeah. Sounds good.” She pokes Jon in the side. “Did we break you, baby?”

Jon laughs, or tries to. “Just, well, more than just a bit,” he says. He sounds like it’s the end of a long recording session when his rasp and his accent start to make more of an appearance and his _es_ sounds start to slip. Before it was the sound of hours of ad reads it was the sound of late nights editing, and maybe now it will always be the sound of sexual overwhelmedness. Reaching up, Jon catches Lovett’s hand, wraps his long, long fingers around his wrist, holds Lovett’s hand to his chest like a precious thing. 

Jon is every piece of perfect symbolism that Lovett should have expected from such a born protagonist. He makes narratives out of feelings. He stumbles sometimes with his mouth but is always sure with his hands. “You’re such a fucking romantic,” Lovett says, swallowing all the other protests that come too automatically. “Touch your wife with those hands instead.”

“You’re very generous, Lovett,” Emily says. She puts her hand on his shoulder, lifts herself to spread her legs, knees around Jon’s hips, all of which Jon watches with burning focus. “Jon, kiss him for being so generous.” 

Jon shakes his head, bites his lip, distressingly cute. “Well, which one am I meant to do?” Lovett doesn’t look at Jon’s bare thighs, has to try and keep his balance somehow. 

“Baby, please, it’s obviously both,” Emily says, and edges herself further into his lap like an underscore. Lovett moves slightly around her side so that he’s the one positioning the kiss, and this way he can watch Jon’s sure hands track up the insides of Emily’s thigh, under her dress, clearly unerring by the way she tips her head back and breathes out in clear relief. It’s also clearly an effort for him to look away, but his focus transfers just fine to kissing Lovett, and Emily makes an approving noise when their mouths meet. She usually makes that noise when Lovett buys new jeans. This is probably some kind of weird reprogramming thing, all of it. 

“Stop being distracted,” Jon mutters, and Lovett can’t say anything to that, because he was. All he could argue was that he thought he was hiding it better, which was stupid; Jon sees right through him from far greater distances than this. He puts a sorry into the next few kisses, draws out Jon’s bottom lip with apologetic softness, presses more into the next pass, feels Jon smile against his mouth in return. 

Jon says, “Say sorry to Em, too, for distracting me with your distraction.” When he moves back slightly Lovett can see all the places his mouth is going to be stubble burned tomorrow. 

Lovett smiles to himself and presses the softest kiss to Emily’s shoulder, another to her neck, and she rocks harder into Jon, who moves his arm, and Lovett can’t see what he’s doing but he can see the effort, the way Jon is holding himself to make sure it’s good for her, the muscle in his arm that’s under strain. How much he likes working for her pleasure.

He says, shaky, “Jon. What... Tell me what you’re doing.” 

“Jesus,” Jon says, exactly as struck as Lovett had hoped. “Jonathan fucking Lovett.” He's _blushing_.

“You're blushing,” Lovett . Which only makes Jon go redder. Emily laughs and she leans forward to make out with him and call him baby in between the kisses. 

“You can tell him, baby. It's not bad. Just kind of dirty,” Emily says, and Jon groans, drops his head down. 

Jon is the kind of handsome that transfers very well into sex, turns out. Lovett had suspicions, just like he's pretty sure you have to catch Tommy at just the right level of pink and wide eyed for him to look actually good, during. But Jon wears naked want and eagerness and just a hint of the good shame just so prettily. 

Turns out able to ruminate guilt free on just how hot Jon Favreau is apparently something Lovett’s brain was ready to give a lot of time to. 

Lovett says, “Yeah, come on, _baby_.” It makes Jon twitch like he's been pinched, but saying it also makes Lovett ache to be touched. He puts his hand on his dick for a second, just a press to take the edge off. Jon is watching him with an expression that isn't unusual. Lovett is almost sure he's seen it many times before, and that those memories are a brief tour of the best part of a decade, best in so many ways but he doesn't want to commit to being sure. Definitely not to what that might mean.

Jon keeps hold of Lovett's gaze, red but determined. “I'm not really doing much, I'm just, I've got two fingers...” Jon looks back at Emily, but Lovett can't look away from his face. “Yes? I've got two fingers inside her and she's just...” 

“Just using you?” Lovett asks, like he’s in porn. The world’s most unexpected guest star. 

There’s a groan from Emily at that and Jon says, “She’s, um, close. I can tell.” He looks so proud it’s almost comical, except that it isn’t, it’s hot, and it’s endearing, and it’s so hot. 

Lovett says, “Well, make her come then, dumdum. Wait. Pretend I said something sexier.” He probably should have just stuck with it. Confidence is sexier and... All that. 

“It's fine. Accurate,” Emily says, breathless and giggly with it, and Lovett catches the movement of her hips where he’s pressed against her side, she’s rocking hard and Jon really is just taking it. He must have real good forearm strength. Lovett watches as Jon watches Emily, the concentration, the awe, the wanting, and then Jon’s eyes flick to him. He doesn’t know what Jon sees that makes Jon, god, makes him look like that, makes him shudder, makes his eyes go even wider. 

Jon swallows, hard, and Lovett watches his throat move. It’s one of those places on Jon Favreau that are probably attractive to other people for conventional reasons, but Lovett likes it for the way Jon shows it when he laughs, that Lovett can make Jon show himself uninhibited and vulnerable. 

Jon says, “We like that you’re watching, Lo,” and Emily makes a noise, a noise that might have been a word except it’s just a sound that’s pure sex. Lovett knows that sentiment even if it’s coming in an unfamiliar register. “Oh, Em,” Jon says, reaching out for her, and Emily falls forward onto his chest, shuddering, giggling. 

“Oh,” Lovett says, stupidly. “We made you come.” 

Emily turns her face to him, red and with hair sticking to her damp cheek and her forehead. “You did,” she says. “Thumbs up.” 

Lovett feels a weird old feeling stir in his chest, the sort of satisfaction that in a comic would come with a word bubble that said “HA!!!”. He leans forwards and kisses Jon as a job well done, keeps at it because this is also worth doing well. They both deserve the kind of kissing they’re pulling off in this moment - hot as hell and joyous as fuck. 

“I like my view,” Emily says creakily. 

Jon grins down at her and says, “Hang on, just let me...” He shifts and then raises his fascinatingly wet fingers to his mouth, sucks at his fingertip. “She likes to watch me clean up, and I like to do it,” he tells Lovett, which is almost too much. There’s only one way for Lovett to respond to this kind of thing. 

“Hey, so, in this points system you have going on,” he says, waiting to make sure that he’s got their full attention before getting to the good stuff. “I get rewards for trying straight stuff, right?” 

Emily says, “Well, obviously,” still all interestingly pink, so Lovett takes Jon’s hand and licks a showy stripe up his fingers, takes two in his mouth and sucks them all the way down. Jon makes a pleasingly high pitched garble. 

Lovett draws back, sits on his heels and looks them both down. “Honestly? Not that bad. Popular culture really makes it seem like it would be - I mean, of course it does - and does not prepare you for jizz at all.” 

“Thanks, babe,” Emily says, fighting back a giggle for a moment or two, then giving up. “‘Better than the patriarchy led me to believe’, a review of pussy by Jon Lovett.” So Lovett is going to have to try harder to make her speechless, but he thinks he can get there. He’s got Jon, for sure. 

He asks, “So, what does it get me, Favreau?” directed at Jon but expecting the answer to come from Emily. 

Which it does, but, “Jon deserves a reward too, would you like him to blow you?” That was not what he was expecting. 

He says, “Yes?”

Emily settles herself against Jon, tucking herself into him easily like it’s another Saturday night on the sofa with the three of them and the dogs and she has work gossip to share. Lovett is terrible at this hooking up thing. “You don’t have to. We can do something else. But it’s something that occupies like, a _lot_ of Jon’s thoughts. The ones that I have to tell him are okay.” She smiles across at Lovett, just for him, just how he likes it. “I think you might be up for it, too.”

Lovett says, “Uh huh, yes, yup,” which is way better than he would have previously thought himself capable of. _’Jon Favreau wants to blow you, what do you say?’ ‘Well I assume I’ve swallowed my own tongue and passed out, so not much._ ’ 

“Yeah?” Jon says very softly, looking at Lovett with hope all over his dumb face. This is why they’re here, or it’s ostensibly how this all started, Jon and his not gay not straight fantasies. Which apparently include blowjobs.

Lovett touches the corner of Jon’s mouth. “If you insist,” he says. He gestures down at himself, trying to think of something to say that won’t make Jon purse his lips in concern, but then it turns out that Jon doesn’t actually need more invitation to touch Lovett’s body, he lurches forwards so eagerly that Emily laughs. 

“Baby,” she says. “It’s okay. Lovett’s not going anywhere. You can probably let him take off his underwear.” 

Lovett tries to laugh over the sudden stupid surge of panic that goes through him, but his heart isn’t all in it. He sighs, because they’ll know that. “Okay. I’m okay but - Ugh. This is going to sound stupid but, it’s kind of...” He sighs again as he grudgingly meets Emily’s eyes. “Em, it’s weird that you’re going to see my dick hard, okay?” 

“You did just see me come,” Emily points out. Jon has taken her hand, like Lovett is going to forget to be careful with her, which is fair and also galling. 

Lovett swallows. “Okay, yes, I did, but you know. Hot people coming is hot, dicks that you aren’t having sex with are not.” He feels like he’s bursting the bubble that they created somewhere out there in the warm LA night, made of bass lines and cicadas and conspiratorial grinning. Of Jon’s hands all over both of them. 

“Is that... Is that what you want to call this?” Jon, each word so careful, asks him. “That’s not... How I was. But. You can. Of course you can.” 

Lovett shakes his head, shakes off the spiky feeling, even though he could try lying to them, or to himself. That isn’t how he feels, he feels like this is sex and fuck it, maybe that means something and maybe it doesn’t. He feels good with their eyes on him. It feels good that Jon is graceless with how much he wants to touch him. “No, that’s not... I’m not...” 

“You’re the hot person _we’re_ having sex with,” Jon says. “To me.” 

“To both of us,” Emily says simply. 

Lovett sighs. “Well, you’ve never bullshitted me before, I guess I can trust your assessment of the situation. This is why everyone in the gay community ends up hooking up with their friends, you’re actually drawing on a rich vein of tradition-”

“Lovett,” Jon cuts in. It’s the firm but fond version of his name. 

“Fine, calm down, you can see my boner,” Lovett says, wriggling out of his underwear as cutely as he ever has, something approaching a shimmy, even. When he looks up Emily is kissing Jon’s neck, attention deliberately elsewhere, and Jon is waiting, ready with those steady hands, to pull Lovett in and kiss him. The kissing comes almost too easy at this point, even after he got all stupid and spooked. Not that Jon would call it spooked, nor Emily say it was stupid. 

Jon glances downwards. “Can I?”

Lovett laughs and says, “Yeah, Jon, yeah you can.” He’s still leaning in close, catches the flicker of uncertainty that rushes over Jon’s face. “Hey. Only if you want to, okay? I had my little gay freak out, you can have yours. As many as you want.” Jon looks like he is about to say something stupid so Lovett carries on: the important thing with Jon is to give him something to focus on. “I mean, the ideal number would be zero, obviously, for everyone, and I’ve already delayed things with several weird thought tangents, and I know, I know you really want to blow me. You told me.” He drags his thumb over Jon’s bottom lip, because if Jon is a person he’s having sex with, Lovett gets to act like it. He’s hard and he wants to touch Jon like this is real, they’re fucking, because they _are_.

Jon swallows, an echo of those first moments dancing out in the courtyard, when his eyes betrayed him first. “Yes,” he says. Lovett keeps touching him, doesn’t leave him alone in wanting.

Emily says, “He’s been practicing,” in an encouraging voice. If Lovett presses close he can feel her hand stroking across Jon’s chest. They’ll let him know it’s okay to want. 

“Tell me about that,” Lovett tells Jon. He lets his voice drop low, but it still comes out like the small demands that he throws at Jon every single day, and that Jon will sigh and pull faces about at worst. He almost always does them. 

Jon smiles, and says, “Started with fingers, with Em’s fingers.” He’s back to touching now, back to brushing warmly across weird bits of Lovett’s body that light up nonetheless. “She said, she said I was good and we... She has some stuff, some...” 

There is a beautiful moment in Lovett’s life where he watches Jon Favreau decide if he’s going to say the word ‘vibrator”. Or maybe ‘dildo’. He feels, frankly, resplendent about having caused it. 

Jon coughs. Jon says, “Toys.” 

Lovett feels his expression soften, but Jon’s probably into that too. He arches into Jon’s touch, tries to sound encouraging with his body too. “So that pegging joke, not completely a joke, then, Favreau?” 

Jon is going red as he trails his hands down Lovett’s sides, drops a kiss onto his shoulder. “We’re... maybe working up to it. But. I mostly just use... it... for practicing. I’m getting much better.”

 

“It’s so fucking hot,” Emily supplies into the silence left by Lovett’s complete speechlessness. Lovett makes a ‘no shit’ face at her almost on autopilot. Emily leans back into Jon's side, still close, still reachable. She says, “He can take so much now.” 

Lovett says, helpless, “Oh, Jon.” Luckily he’s so turned on that there’s some sex roughness in his voice too, not just, _oh, of course you saw a way to apply yourself and took it to an implausible level._ God. He wants to see that too, Jon's mouth working around the unyielding hardness of a toy. 

Jon touches one curious finger to Lovett’s dick and bites his lip. “I think.. Yeah. For real this time.” He's smiling when he says it, though, and it broadens when he runs his knuckles down the length of Lovett's dick. 

“That's right, nothing to worry about, Em and I will tell you when you're doing it just right,” Lovett says, drawing Jon back into a kiss, making sure Jon feels how much he wants to be right there. 

It's almost too much as Jon kisses Lovett's collarbone, tender, moving down and down, kissing every place Lovett is squirmy, just one more way to take advantage of the ways he knows Lovett too fucking well. Lovett takes a breath and reaches down, smoothes Jon's hair back from his forehead, Jon looking up at him. 

Jon says, “You look-” and closes his eyes for a moment. 

“Naked lust is a very good look on you, babe,” Emily says. “Jon will tell you all about it, afterwards.”

Jon nods, resolute, and Lovett keeps his hand right there, just in Jon’s hairline, so that Jon’s face is still slightly tipped up when he gets his mouth on Lovett’s dick, when he slides his bottom lip under the head, when he licks, all tentative movements and all so good, so fucking good. 

Lovett strokes through Jon’s hair and then over his cheek. “Keep going,” he says, trying to find the right note to hit, so that Jon can stop if he wants to but knows that Lovett wants him like this, so that Jon can be the person not making the decision, if he doesn’t want to be. He rises up as much as he can on his knees. “You can keep going, can’t you.” He sees Jon swallow as he feels Jon swallow. 

“It’s really, it’s awesome,” Jon says. He swallows again; it looks almost reflexive at this point. Or maybe his mouth is actually watering. God. “I know you said it would be better than fingers but... It is. It is better.” He must be talking to Emily but he’s still looking up at Lovett like... Like very few people look at him. 

“And, I think the taste is kind of cool,” Jon says, mouth twitching, the worst poker face of them all. 

“You would,” Lovett says exactly as Emily does. It would kind of be for the best if Jon did think that, because Lovett is already the kind of close where he knows he gets really wet, must be dripping into Jon’s mouth at this point. He’s probably only been saved by that last cocktail from just coming all over Jon’s face. 

This is not a helpful thought.

“Would you let me come on your face?” he asks, in case knowing helps, or something. If this is only for one night, he has to make sure he gets as much future jerk off material as possible. 

Jon blinks, his eyes heavy, doing the kinds of things that make Lovett’s interior prose go purple. “Do you want to do that?” 

Lovett wants to do everything. He wants to make it so that Jon Favreau has a gay thought every time he hears Lovett’s name. He wants to make him beg, and he wants Jon to make him beg, and he wants to watch Emily unravel Jon at the seams and see her come on his face, too. He says, “Would you let me?” He breathes. “Also, yes.” He pushes his cock gently, slowly, over Jon’s bottom lip, feeding it into his mouth. “But not right now.”

Emily makes a breathless noise at that, and Lovett feels it too, like the air just closed in around them again. He keeps on pushing. Emily strokes Jon’s shoulder says, “Baby. Close your mouth around Jon’s cock now, that’s right. He’ll like that a lot. See.” 

Lovett nods. “I... I do.” His whole body feels wound tight with it.

Jon actually smiles at that, a smile that would usually be one of his huge, sunny grins except he’s sucking dick. Lovett says, “Look at you,” every fond feeling he’s ever had tumbled into the words. “The prettiest reward.” 

A shudder runs through Jon’s body and it travels through to him to Lovett’s, and Emily’s too by the look of it. She flashes Lovett an approving smile and, as ever, her approbation makes something inside him sing. 

Lovett smiles back and says, “He’s, fuck, already pretty good. You must have had him practising quite hard.” At this point his brain just seems to be in some kind of double dare situation with his dick. Oh, so you’re not coming from Jon wrapping his lips carefully around you? How about if you know it’s from him sucking at a dildo to improve? What about that? He clenches every possible muscle. 

Jon wriggles happily, runs his hands Lovett’s thighs, rests some weight there as he tries to go further down, take more of Lovett’s dick into his mouth. He’s having to angle himself in a very uncomfortable looking shape, but the expression on his face is still blissful. 

Emily says, “He’s a very good student. Tommy’s not our only curious one, you know.” Lovett watches her hands, strong, practiced, dig into the meat of Jon's shoulder. “You know how Jon gets with a project, and that he already had an interest in the topic.” Lovett does know, well, everyone knows, but Lovett knows extra because Emily has told him how Jon begs to eat her out. 

“I love how into it you are,” Lovett says to Jon, daring to trace down his jaw, his throat. Dumb to feel like that’s crossing a line when Jon is blowing him, but this is about affection. Every part of his brain that isn’t screaming to come is yelling about how the way Jon has listened, rapt and attentive and responsive, to every idea Lovett’s ever told him about. 

He sees, feels, Jon groan, and when he raises his head Emily meets his eyes and says, “Yeah,” at whatever softness she sees there. “He’s been practising for you,” she adds, and that’s it, that’s too much, Lovett grips at Jon’s shoulder, hand anchored against Emily’s, and says, shattered, “Jon, Jon, I’m going to, fuck, you’ve done so well, I...” 

Jon stops moving his head, just sort of holds Lovett’s dick in his mouth and sucks, hard. That’s answer enough and provocation enough, and Lovett closes his eyes as he starts to come, spilling helplessly into Jon’s waiting mouth with a noise of infinite uncontrollable completeness, and Jon comes up to catch Lovett as he tips forwards, kisses him in a dirty, clinging mess of mouths. 

Lovett can’t seem to catch his breath and his body can’t stop spasming, his dick is twitching against Jon’s thigh. He tucks his face into Jon’s neck and hopes he’ll understand. 

Jon turns his head and Emily is kissing him, flows from one kiss into the next like they’re the same one, Emily picking up where Lovett left off. She must be tasting Lovett in Jon’s mouth, which is enough to make Lovett’s body shudder through the last of the kind of orgasm you remember and also obliterates itself in the mind. He stays there, breathing hard, smelling the familiar tang of Jon’s sweat and his going out cologne.

“Please?” Jon starts to say between kisses. He sounds __wrecked__ , so Lovett drags himself up again, adds himself to the rounds of kissing. Emily close up, eyes closed, still looks supremely smug and very beautiful with it as she kisses Jon’s trembling mouth. 

Lovett says, “We’ve got you, babe.” It’s not that hard to wrangle the three of them down so that Jon is lying between them, all flushed and hard in just his briefs. Lovett has seen enough of Jon over the years that he could probably have jigsawed together a pretty accurate approximation of Jon Favreau naked, but somehow, as ever, the whole picture is unexpectedly devastating. He cozies himself back into Jon’s side, gives them both the comfort of touch. He knows Emily will do the same, is always curled up close to Jon. Or Tommy. Or Hanna. Or him, most of all. He knows where all her limbs fit into his, and into Jon’s. It’s easy to reach across Jon’s chest as Jon works for breath and find Emily’s hand. 

“Thank you for letting us get you off, Jon,” Emily says, softly. “I know I’m not earning my rewards here, but, I’m still getting them.” 

Lovett strokes her knuckles and says, “Eh.” Emily squeezes his hand in return, and there’s nothing to do except kiss Jon’s neck and say, “That’s standard, though, for the queen empress of WeHo over here. We let her get away with anything.” 

There’s not much from Jon apart from a strangled noise, and when Lovett looks up Jon is just staring down fixedly at Emily’s hand in Lovett’s, linked across his chest. “Hey, hey,” Lovett says, and brushes a kiss on Jon’s forehead on his way over as he leans over across and kisses Emily, because he does love to spoil her. 

Jon whimpers.

“Tell us what you need, baby,” Emily says, her voice low and warm like firelight. Jon’s body relaxes slightly but he still looks frantic around the eyes, limbs moving restlessly. 

Lovett reaches for the part of him that knows how to finish Jon’s half formed sentences, that can order for him off any menu. “I don’t think he knows, Em. So _I_ think he should just touch himself before he goes out of his mind.” 

“I think he’s going to do it and come so fast” Emily agrees. “You’re so smart.” 

They both look down at Jon in tandem, and Jon breathes out a long, long shuddering breath, and closes his eyes as he pushes his briefs down, gorgeous, almost painfully so, Lovett feels his chest go tight as Jon wraps one hand around his dick. 

Lovett says, “That’s so good, Jon.” He sounds sincere as fuck, but luckily he knows Jon will get hard for that. Harder. Jon’s dick is already red and leaking and just as desperate looking as his face. Lovett is watching Jon’s dick leak and that’s real. That’s a real thing he gets to watch, and he’s sincere about how much that means. He tries, helplessly, to pivot. “Love watching you, we both do, and you can take that to the bank. I will, to a very specific bank, if you know what I mean.” 

“Are you going to make Jon come to one of your bits?” Emily says, giggling, and Lovett says, “Well now I am,” and Jon laughs, and groans, and buries his face in Lovett’s side, and comes spectacularly all over his own chest and their joined hands. 

“You just have to be pornographic about everything, don’t you,” Lovett says peevishly, leaning down to brush Jon’s clenched shut eyes, his panting mouth, with soft, fond kisses. 

“He does,” Emily says with a sigh, pulling Lovett down with her to wrap Jon up in them. It’s messy, so messy, but it’s so fucking good Lovett wants to scream about it, Jon making happy dopey noises into his chest, his body comedrunk and drunk drunk, and Emily’s arm draped over him like she wants Lovett close too. She says, “Jon’s set a fun precedent, there, Lovett,” pulling him tight into Jon by the hip. 

Jon makes troubled noise into Lovett’s chest. “Honey, do you need, do you need to go again?”

Lovett groans at the thought and then, thankfully, realises Jon is talking to Emily, who says, “No thank you baby, I did while you were blowing your Lovett. Don’t worry, you were busy, and I had a great time.” She leans over and kisses the side of Jon’s head, pats Lovett’s hip like they... satisfied her, then yawns and stretches. “You fuck me in the morning or whatever.” 

“Okay,” Jon says doubtfully. “If you say so.” 

Lovett also doubts it will actually happen, Emily hungover likes to be bundled in blankets and brought black coffee while she lies very still. Maybe if Jon was gentle, sweet rolls of his hips while Lovett held the comforter up around their necks. 

“We should clean up,” he says, and Jon and Emily make very different noises, and Lovett thinks that one of them will move soon, and then, instead, he’s falling asleep. 

*

_and Jon comes back from the bathroom at some point in the night, smelling clean and good, and he tucks himself against Lovett’s side, and Lovett rolls into the middle, into Emily, who makes a happy noise, probably because Lovett is warm, and Lovett breathes all the way out, also so warm and so comfortable, ridiculously comfortable and_

*

Lovett could sneak out easily, or he could go on a coffee run, or a run run, and come back and be normal. His normal loud gay prickly self. Not the person who slept all night between Jon and Emily, sated and happy and soft. 

He sneaks back but it’s too late, Jon is awake, shaking Emily’s shoulder and looking panicked. 

“Hey,” Lovett says quietly. “It’s okay, don’t wake her up yet, I’ll go to Starbucks first.”

“What the fuck?” Emily says croakily from under the covers. “Lovett? That cannot be you offering to go buy the morning after coffee. Jon, there’s someone who sounds just like Jon Lovett in our house but it must be an imposter because our Lovett has not ever done that one time.”

Lovett sits at the end of their bed, turns himself to sit cross legged, looking at them. Or at Jon and a few inches of Emily’s head. “First time for everything,” he says. He swallows, and remembers the pretty, grateful bob of Jon’s throat last night. “I’m in a pretty great mood this morning. Must have slept well or whatever.”

Emily emerges in a cloud of blonde fluff and leans against Jon with a sigh. His shoulder muscles do look good enough to cure a hangover. “Or whatever?” she says, with the start of a tentative smile. When Lovett nods she asks, “Well enough even to come back into the bed instead of going to get coffee?”

“But my metaphor,” Lovett says, clambering up the bed. “I was going to say something smart about rewards. I was just trying to gauge if you both remembered we had sex.” 

Jon says, “I remember. We remember. I... Tell me where you were going with your metaphor?”

“Something about how there’s a first time for everything,” Lovett says. “Something about how it can turn out that something you didn’t know you wanted to do can bring unexpected rewards.” Jon holds up the comforter and Emily shifts, and there’s Lovett’s warm spot in between the two of them, ready and waiting, and he knows, stupid in his bones with it, that it isn’t the warm dark of the LA night, it’s not the masks or the tricks of Halloween, it’s not the cocktails that Jon brought over to them without having to be asked, that creates this feeling. They don’t have to dance to feel like that. They just have to have them. “We can workshop it.” 

“You’ve got two communications professionals right here,” Emily says. She closes her hand around Lovett’s knee. 

Jon holds Lovett’s gaze. “All we need is you,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell with me on [tumblr ](https://crookedcommunela.tumblr.com/post/181229783377/remember-when-emjonjon-pregamed-Halloween-2017)


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